M is for Memory
Title: M is for Memory
Characters: Colby Granger
Rating: G
Word Count: 640
Summary: There is a box.
Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that I do not own Numb3rs.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated.
Author's Note: This was requested by mustangcandi who asked for Colby and M is for Memory. I hope I do not disappoint.
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There is a box.
When the day has been particular long or seriously rough -which most days are as of lately- Colby comes home to his one bedroom apartment. He lives alone, so it doesn’t really matter that it’s been a long day or a hard day, because he always comes home to where he lives by himself. Which is somewhat hard in a big city like this, but the demanding job of an agent makes it hard to actually date unless it is with someone that is going to be compatible in a long run type of situation.
However, despite the fact that he does live alone for the most part - excluding when he does manage to find a date for the night or when friends and David come over to drink beer during a game-the long days and harsh cases are worse on Colby.
On these days, Colby comes home to his apartment and goes to his closet.
There is a box in his closet.
It’s in his bedroom closet, not the one in the mini foyer, and it rests in plain sight. It’s not hidden away behind old sweaters or a winter coat that is better suited for where he grew up. No, it rests right where he barely has to stretch to reach.
And on bad days, days like this when he’s just happy that they’ve finally managed to make a breakthrough before losing their minds or succumbing to the desire to kill one other in the bullpen, Colby discards of his extra accessories -jacket, tie, and weapon- and brings the rectangular object down.
There is a box in his closet with big block letters written in Sharpie.
It is marked ‘Home’ and the cardboard sentiment had been his mother’s idea. Mama Granger had been unwilling to send her youngest baby off to war without something to remind him of home -home being the little town in Idaho by the river where he used to fish with his father- and the stern look in her eye had allowed for no cajoling or arguing or back sassing.
Mama Granger had filled it with pictures and mementos and other things like newspaper clippings, anything to remind her son that he had a life back where sand didn’t cover everything. Back then, the photos and other items had been things dealing with his previous twenty two years of life: wrestling matches, childhood birthdays, prom pictures, college graduation announcement.
Somehow, Colby had and still does keep up with the tradition. He adds to his mother’s work, mixing some stuff from his life here in L.A., but mostly keeping up with things that deal with Winchester, Idaho; that little town with the river.
It may seem trivial to some and more of a woman’s thing to others, but to him the innocuous box is important to his well being.
And on days that have been harsh and long and ass kicking, Colby doesn’t go get roaring drunk to drown out the pain and lingering voices that never really go away. Instead, he takes down the box and lets the memories of back home wash over him. He sits on his bed and removes the pictures and clippings and items one by one, smiling and laughing as a particular recollections comes forth from his brain.
He looks and remembers and feels better. Sure, he can call his mother, it’s only an hour difference in time, but he would rather call her on happy days to check in.
It’s better this way. Better to recall his past in order to work for the future he hopes to make better by his duty and job.
There is a box in his closet with big block letters written in Sharpie that serves to prove to him that there is still good in the world.
Characters: Colby Granger
Rating: G
Word Count: 640
Summary: There is a box.
Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that I do not own Numb3rs.
Feedback: Is greatly appreciated.
Author's Note: This was requested by mustangcandi who asked for Colby and M is for Memory. I hope I do not disappoint.
---------------------
There is a box.
When the day has been particular long or seriously rough -which most days are as of lately- Colby comes home to his one bedroom apartment. He lives alone, so it doesn’t really matter that it’s been a long day or a hard day, because he always comes home to where he lives by himself. Which is somewhat hard in a big city like this, but the demanding job of an agent makes it hard to actually date unless it is with someone that is going to be compatible in a long run type of situation.
However, despite the fact that he does live alone for the most part - excluding when he does manage to find a date for the night or when friends and David come over to drink beer during a game-the long days and harsh cases are worse on Colby.
On these days, Colby comes home to his apartment and goes to his closet.
There is a box in his closet.
It’s in his bedroom closet, not the one in the mini foyer, and it rests in plain sight. It’s not hidden away behind old sweaters or a winter coat that is better suited for where he grew up. No, it rests right where he barely has to stretch to reach.
And on bad days, days like this when he’s just happy that they’ve finally managed to make a breakthrough before losing their minds or succumbing to the desire to kill one other in the bullpen, Colby discards of his extra accessories -jacket, tie, and weapon- and brings the rectangular object down.
There is a box in his closet with big block letters written in Sharpie.
It is marked ‘Home’ and the cardboard sentiment had been his mother’s idea. Mama Granger had been unwilling to send her youngest baby off to war without something to remind him of home -home being the little town in Idaho by the river where he used to fish with his father- and the stern look in her eye had allowed for no cajoling or arguing or back sassing.
Mama Granger had filled it with pictures and mementos and other things like newspaper clippings, anything to remind her son that he had a life back where sand didn’t cover everything. Back then, the photos and other items had been things dealing with his previous twenty two years of life: wrestling matches, childhood birthdays, prom pictures, college graduation announcement.
Somehow, Colby had and still does keep up with the tradition. He adds to his mother’s work, mixing some stuff from his life here in L.A., but mostly keeping up with things that deal with Winchester, Idaho; that little town with the river.
It may seem trivial to some and more of a woman’s thing to others, but to him the innocuous box is important to his well being.
And on days that have been harsh and long and ass kicking, Colby doesn’t go get roaring drunk to drown out the pain and lingering voices that never really go away. Instead, he takes down the box and lets the memories of back home wash over him. He sits on his bed and removes the pictures and clippings and items one by one, smiling and laughing as a particular recollections comes forth from his brain.
He looks and remembers and feels better. Sure, he can call his mother, it’s only an hour difference in time, but he would rather call her on happy days to check in.
It’s better this way. Better to recall his past in order to work for the future he hopes to make better by his duty and job.
There is a box in his closet with big block letters written in Sharpie that serves to prove to him that there is still good in the world.